Dutch Treat

The ice has thawed considerably between Mary Scott* and me, which is a major relief.

I spent much of Tuesday schlepping around Tess, Scarlet, and Dawn in preparation for Dawn’s third birthday party due later that evening. Actually, the day got unexpectedly busy. When I got up, I texted Scarlet to tell Dawn that I wished her a happy birthday. (I should note that I had been over the house on Friday and mention was made by Mary that I should come to Dawn’s birthday party—probably on Tuesday—but given recent history, as well as past history when birthday dates have a tendency to shift, I wasn’t completely sure if this was going to happen. OK. Long story short, yes there was going to be a party, yes I was expected to come, and would I please, please, make some bread. (I’m becoming famous for my breads.) I agreed.

Then Tess contacts me. She wanted to pick up a sort of princess costume that was at my shop for Dawn to dress in. Again, though we talked about it earlier (about a month ago), I hadn’t been sure if this was still a plan. But no problem. As long as I’m back by 2:00 to start making the bread, all will be good. But later, Tess says that the cable guy is over and that Scarlet needs to pick up birthday stuff, and would I drop by to watch the cable dude while they do their errands. Hey, when asked, I’ll be there if at all possible, so I went.

The cable guy finished quickly, so I became the chauffeur to the girls as we got all the errands done. Unfortunately, that meant that I didn’t get to start making the bread until sometime between 3:30 and 4:00. Fortunately, challah isn’t tough to make and I had it well in hand in short order. In fact, the pauses for the risings let me to not only get cleaned up, but to do the cards and stuff that I had planned to do before Tess’ call.

So, anyway. I go to the party. Bread is a hit. Blah, blah, blah. It’s like old times, again. A nice party with family and a few friends. And the thaw? Well, let’s just say that Mary and I didn’t just exchange a friendly hug, but embraced. True, I might have been more the embracer than she was at first (barely), but the embracee certainly didn’t seem to mind. I missed her.